I 


GOING   WEST 


BOOKS  BY 
BASIL    KING 

GOING  WEST 

THE  CITY  OF  COMRADES 

ABRAHAM'S  BOSOM 

THE   LIFTED    VEIL 

THE  SIDE  OF  THE  ANGELS 

THE  LETTER  OF  THE  CONTRACT 

THE  WAY  HOME 

THE  WILD  OLIVE 

THE  INNER  SHRINE 

THE  STREET  CALLED  STRAIGHT 

LET  NO  MAN  PUT  ASUNDER 

IN  THE  GARDEN  OF  CHARITY 

THE  STEPS  OF  HONOR 

THE  HIGH   HEART 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS.  NEW  YORK 
ESTABLISHED  1817 


GOING  WEST 


BY 

BASIL  KING 

Author  of 
"The  City  of  Comrades  "  "Abraham's  Bosom  "  etc. 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


GOING  WEST 

Copyright,  1919,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 

Published  June,  1919 


514 


1!047 


GOING   WEST 


GOING   WEST 


CHAPTER  I 

HE  was  not  a  born  fighter,  in  spite  of  a 
big,  husky  frame  through  which  the 
urge  of  physical  life  was  strong.  On  the 
contrary,  he  was  a  civilian  and  a  business 
man  in  every  nerve  of  his  body.  Eight 
generations  on  American  soil  had  bred  a  type 
essentially  industrious,  notwithstanding  all 
the  fighting  in  which  the  family  had  been 
engaged.  His  father  had  fought  in  the 
Spanish- American  War;  his  grandfather  in 
the  Civil  War;  his  great-great-grandfather 
in  the  Revolution;  farther  back,  his  ancestors 
in  the  Connecticut  Valley  had  beaten  off  the 
French  and  Indians  for  nearly  a  hundred 
years. 

All  that,  however,  had  bben  alien  to  the 
main  purposes  of  life.    It  had  been  incidental, 


GOING   WEST 

not  professional.  Its  chief  influence  on  Les- 
ter lay  in  the  assumption  that,  men  being 
called  for  on  the  borders  of  Texas  and  in 
Mexico,  he  had  no  choice  but  to  go.  True, 
he  was  just  beginning,  after  certain  wayward 
years,  to  see  success  as  a  broker  ahead  of 
him;  and  within  the  month  he  had  become 
engaged  to  Molly  Dove.  But  these  consid- 
erations could  not  weigh  against  the  appeal 
of  country,  nor  annul  those  traditions  of  duty 
that  had  come  to  him  from  the  past. 

So  in  the  course  of  tune,  and  with  the 
march  of  events,  he  found  himself  in  the 
enemy  trenches,  facing  a  burly  blue-eyed 
Teuton  holding  a  rifle  by  the  barrel  and 
swinging  the  butt  about  his  head,  while  he 
himself  held  a  bayonet  in  his  hand.  Amid 
the  wreckage,  the  carnage,  the  tumult,  he 
was  desperately  trying  to  recall  his  instruc- 
tions as  to  how  to  stick  the  weapon  in. 

Before  telling  what  happened  then,  let  us 
go  back  and  follow  rapidly  the  stages  by 
which  Lester  found  himself  in  a  situation 
which  two  or  three  years  earlier  he  would 
have  laughed  out  of  the  list  of  possibilities. 

The  son  of  a  well-to-do  bookseller  in  a 

great  Atlantic  city,  he  was  an  instance  of  that 
2 


GOING   WEST 

reaction  against  the  paternal  bent  with  which 
we  are  all  familiar.  His  father  was  a  gentle, 
scholarly  man  who  loved  books  as  books. 
The  Spanish-American  campaign  had  left 
him  with  one  leg  slightly  shorter  than  the 
other,  and  the  air  of  a  retired  general.  All 
his  longings  had  once  focused  themselves  into 
the  hope  that  his  son  would  enter  into,  and 
one  day  inherit,  a  business  built  up  on  years 
of  diligence  and  judgment — only  to  be  dis- 
appointed. 

Lester  had  no  interest  in  books.  He  was 
not  only  an  open-air  fellow  with  a  zest  for 
sports,  but  he  had  all  the  inclinations  of  a 
genial,  j  ovial  soul .  Taking  wine,  women,  and 
song  as  kindred  joys,  he  chose  brokerage  as 
the  profession  that  would  give  him  closest 
touch  with  the  merry  give  and  take  of  life. 

As  a  broker  he  could  steal  all  the  time  he 
needed  to  "root"  at  games,  after  he  had 
ceased  to  play  them  actively,  while  the  same 
career  rendered  him  more  free  to  marry  a  girl 
like  Molly  Dove,  a  waitress  in  the  cafe  where 
he  generally  lunched,  to  whom  his  family 
bitterly  objected. 

His  mother  was  a  small,  square-shouldered 
woman,  with  a  smile  so  bright  that  it  was 


GOING   WEST 

difficult  for  the  most  penetrating  eye  to  see 
behind  it.  Lester  had  inherited  her  dark 
color,  her  beetling  brows,  and  her  vigorous 
physique.  A  gay  audacity,  as  real  as  it 
looked,  was  also  not  the  least  among  the 
legacies  she  passed  on  to  her  son. 

Of  his  two  sisters,  Cora  resembled  the 
father  and  Ethelind  the  mother.  Ethelind, 
too,  had  that  gay  audacity,  the  most  patent 
result  of  which  was  to  involve  her  in  con- 
flicting love-affairs.  A  wild-eyed  thing,  she 
was  formed  on  that  permanent-seventeen 
model  that  came  in  with  the  second  decade 
of  the  twentieth  century  and  induced  all 
women,  whatever  their  time  of  life,  to  dress 
as  school-girls.  Cora,  tall,  dignified,  re- 
served, was  the  graduate  of  a  woman's  col- 
lege, in  which  it  was  her  ambition  one  day  to 
hold  a  professorship.  To  sisters  as  well  as 
parents  the  stalwart,  wilful  boy  would  have 
been  the  king  among  young  men  had  it  not 
been  for  his  entanglement  with  Molly  Dove. 
They  could  pardon  his  "wildness,"  knowing 
that  it  would  pass,  but  they  found  it  hard  to 
forgive  his  choice  of  a  wife  in  a  sphere  so 
much  below  him.  In  fact,  they  did  not 
pardon  it  at  all.  In  spite  of  his  announce- 


GOING   WEST 

ment  that  the  engagement  had  become  defi- 
nite, no  one  responded  to  his  invitation  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  the  girl. 

In  the  matter  of  his  "wildness"  there  were 
already  stirrings  of  a  change  of  heart, 
though  they  hardly  rose  to  the  level  of  active 
consciousness.  Such  reforms  as  he  made  were 
avowedly  in  deference  to  Molly  Dove.  In 
cutting  out — the  term  was  his — women,  wine, 
and  song,  he  made  it  clear  to  himself  that 
he  did  it,  not  in  obedience  to  a  moral  law,  but 
because  "Molly  asked  him  to."  Molly  held 
the  odd  conviction  that  such  indulgences  were 
wrong,  chiefly  because  they  came  in  between 
him  and  a  great  mystery,  of  which  he  had 
heard  vaguely  all  his  life,  but  from  which  in- 
stinctively he  turned  his  mind  away. 

" There's  really  no  mystery  at  all,"  she 
asserted,  in  that  pretty  way  of  hers  which  he 
found  at  once  tranquil  and  enthusiastic,  "no 
more  than  there's  a  mystery  about  the  sun. 
When  we  fill  the  atmosphere  with  smoke  we 
can't  see  it;  but  that  doesn't  keep  the  sun 
from  being  there.  Blow  the  smoke  away, 
and  you  find  the  sunshine  as  bright  as 
ever." 

He  liked  to  hear  her  talk  in  that  way, 
5 


GOING    WEST 

though  he  was  not  won  by  her  beliefs.  Far 
in  the  future  he  saw  days  when  he  would 
have  shot  the  bolt  of  his  temptations  and 
settled  down  with  her  into  being  the  "good 
fellow"  she  hoped  to  make  of  him.  In  the 
mean  time — 

But  in  the  mean  time  came  the  call.  It  was 
the  kind  of  call  against  which  his  instincts 
and  his  interests  both  rebelled,  but  he  took  it 
with  no  more  analysis  than  he  gave  to  the 
necessity  of  getting  out  of  bed  on  a  winter's 
morning.  There  was  no  help  for  it;  it  was 
all  in  the  day's  work. 

His  family  took  it  in  the  same  way.  It 
was  as  much  a  matter  of  course  as  when 
Ebenezer  Lester  shouldered  his  eighteenth- 
century  musket  to  defend  the  stockade 
against  the  Iroquois  stealing  down  from 
Canada.  It  was  as  much  a  matter  of  course 
as  when  Charles  E.  Lester,  the  bookseller, 
rallied  to  President  McKinley  against  Spain. 

It  was  also  a  matter  of  course  to  Molly 
Dove.  It  would  postpone  the  wedding  for 
which  she  had  begun  her  simple  preparations, 
but  she  had  a  curious,  secret  facility  for  re- 
nouncing her  own  will.  Her  right-about- 
face  was  made  with  smiling  lips  and  glistening 

6 


GOING   WEST 

eyes,  and  no  effort  that  any  one  could  see. 
To  Lester  she  whispered: 

"  It's  going  to  be  all  right,  dear.  Whatever 
the  clash  of  human  wills,  there's  only  one  real 
Ruler  in  the  universe.  The  closer  we  can 
keep  in  touch  with  Hun  the  nearer  we  shall 
be  to  the  usefulness  and  happiness  which 
make  up  what  we  call  our  destiny." 

"  That's  all  very  well."  He  smiled,  patting 
her  hand.  "But  suppose  I'm  shot — or  die 
of  a  fever?" 

Her  reply  would  have  staggered  him  if  he 
had  not  put  it  down  to  the  sweet  and  charm- 
ing eccentricity  which  made  her  different 
from  other  girls. 

"Well,  suppose  it  does  happen  that  in  the 
course  of  doing  your  duty  this  mortal 
should  'put  on  immortality' — that's  the  way 
the  Bible  expresses  it,  you  know — wouldn't 
that  be  a  gain  for  you?  And  what's  a  gain 
for  you  couldn't  be  a  loss  for  us." 

He  laughed  with  a  great  guffaw.  "But 
perhaps  We  shouldn't  be  married." 

"No;  but  marriage,  after  all,  is  only  for 
tune,  whereas  you  and  I  are  bound  by  all 
sorts  of  ties  which  really  belong  to  eternity." 

He  took  no  stock  in  that,  he  told  her;  but 


GOING    WEST 

he  liked  her  gleaming  earnestness  in  saying 
it.  The  aunt  who  had  brought  her  up  must 
have  been  a  quaint,  religious  character,  he 
said,  to  have  filled  her  head  with  such  other- 
worldly notions.  Anyhow,  they  were  differ- 
ent from  the  anxiety  and  fear  which  the 
family  hid  behind  their  stoic  calmness,  and 
of  which  he  felt  the  twinges  within  himself 
as  he  wound  up  his  affairs. 


CHAPTER  II 

TT  was  at  the  time  when  the  possibility  of 
*  a  war  with  Mexico — or  any  war  at  all — • 
struck  the  imagination  of  the  country  as  a 
calamity  too  horrible  to  contemplate.  There 
was  no  question  as  to  the  victory,  but  neither 
was  there  a  question  as  to  the  price  that 
would  be  paid  for  it.  Men — young  men — 
young  Americans,  O  God ! — would  be  killed — 
actually  killed.  Fellows  whose  places  were 
in  shops  and  offices  and  factories  and  banks, 
whose  diversions  were  the  stadium,  the  sea- 
shore, or  the  woods,  would  be  called  on  to 
make  the  extreme  sacrifice  at  a  time  when 
sacrifice  of  any  kind  was  being  pooh-poohed. 
It  was  not  only  monstrous,  it  was  unnatural, 
a  trend  of  events  in  the  teeth  of  fate,  and 
against  what  one  might  reasonably  call  the 
manifest  will  of  God.  Lester  knew  that  his 
family  were  feeling  this,  though  they  never 
mentioned  it;  he  was  feeling  it  himself. 

Molly  Dove  alone  seemed  to  ride  on  the 
9 


GOING   WEST 

wave  of  events  like  a  sea-bird  on  a  storm, 
cradled,  rocked,  at  ease  in  her  element,  se- 
cure, serene,  sure  of  both  present  and  ultimate 
good,  whatever  might  befall. 

So  there  came  a  Sunday  when,  after  a  mid- 
day dinner,  the  family  accompanied  him  to 
the  station  and  he  entrained  for  camp.  He 
had  said  good-by  to  Molly  Dove  during  the 
forenoon.  As  no  advance  had  been  made  to 
her  from  the  Lester  side,  she  could  make  none 
on  hers,  and  so  judged  it  wisest  to  keep  out 
of  sight.  Her  sweet  self-effacement  in  doing 
this  made  Lester  swear  that  he  would  marry 
her  at  the  first  opportunity,  as  he  steamed 
away  on  this  opening  stage  of  what  was  to 
prove  his  long,  long,  long  way. 

That  way,  at  the  beginning,  struck  many 
people  as  a  tortuous,  futile  way,  leading  no- 
whither.  There  was  talk  of  saluting  the  flag; 
there  was  the  occupation  of  Vera  Cruz;  there 
was  the  withdrawal  from  Vera  Cruz;  there 
were  months  when  the  daily  head-lines  bore 
the  names  Huerta,  Villa,  Carranza;  and  few 
knew  for  what  reason  the  young  men  did  not 
come  home. 

Then  home  they  began  to  come,  chiefly  on 

furlough,  to  be  sent  elsewhere.    During  one 
10 


GOING    WEST 

such  interval  Lester  married  Molly  Dove.  It 
meant  a  breach  with  his  family,  none  of 
whom  appeared  at  the  simple  ceremony  or 
took  any  steps  to  acknowledge  the  bride. 
He  was  compelled  to  leave  her  within  a 
month. 

In  the  mean  while  greater  wars  than  any 
possibility  with  Mexico  had  broken  out,  and 
the  iron  entered  the  whole  world's  soul.  It 
was  only  then  that  the  end  of  the  road  on 
which  Lester  had  started  out  that  Sunday 
when  he  had  entrained  came  into  sight — and 
he  sailed  for  France. 

His  life  after  that  could  scarcely  be  dis- 
tinguished from  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
other  lives.  One  overruling  need  had  bound 
the  manhood  of  the  race  into  a  solidarity  so 
tense  that  the  individual  was  swallowed  up 
in  it.  Lester  was  no  longer  a  son,  a  brother, 
a  husband,  the  father  of  a  coming  baby;  he 
was  an  infinitesimal  part  of  a  huge  machine, 
with  no  more  to  say  in  matters  of  his  life  and 
death  than  the  wheel  to  the  man  who  turns 
it  round.  He  could  only  turn;  he  could  only 
turn  as  he  was  told;  he  could  only  turn  as 
millions  of  other  wheels  were  turning,  with- 
out volition,  without  knowledge,  and,  to  a 
11 


GOING    WEST 

degree  that  surprised  him,  without  much 
preference  or  choice. 

In  minutes  when  conscious  of  himself  he 
could  see  how  little  he  was  the  Lester  of  other 
days.  When  he  woke  up  in  the  morning  it 
was  often  with  a  strange,  dull  wonder  as  to 
what  he  had  become,  and  how  and  why  he 
had  become  it.  It  was  like  a  rebirth — only 
it  suggested  a  rebirth  into  hell.  In  fits  of 
moral  nausea,  after  some  phase  of  a  "good 
time,"  at  any  date  within  the  past  ten  years, 
he  had  called  down  on  himself  some  such  fate 
as  that;  but  he  had  never  looked  for  it  so  lit- 
erally, and  right  here  on  earth. 

The  inevitable  came  at  last.  By  stages 
such  as  have  often  been  described,  he  found 
himself  in  that  section  of  the  trenches  known 
to  its  occupants  as  Dead  Cow  Lane.  Life 
there  was  much  as  he  expected  it  to  be,  though 
possibly  not  quite  so  bad.  Its  worst  feature 
was  in  the  long,  dull  hours  it  allowed  for 
thinking.  He  loathed  sitting  on  the  fire-step 
with  nothing  but  a  slouch,  a  grouch,  and  the 
wit  of  his  mates  to  keep  him  company. 
All  that  was  humanly  repulsive  he  learned  to 
endure;  but  when  he  lounged  idly  on  the  fire- 
step,  one  leg  swung  across  the  other,  and  a 
12 


GOING   WEST 

dead  cigarette  between  his  lips,  he  ate  his  heart 
out.  Molly,  waiting  for  her  baby,  in  a  tiny 
apartment  with  a  kitchenette,  was  a  vision 
against  a  background  of  eyes  that  seemed  to 
watch  for  him.  His  father's  were  grave;  his 
mother's  steely;  Cora's  earnest;  Ethelind's 
wild.  They  looked  down  at  him,  right  there 
in  Dead  Cow  Lane,  in  a  vigil  that  made  him 
frantic.  When  the  command  came  at  last 
to  go  over  the  top  it  brought  with  it  not  only 
terror,  but  a  break  in  the  monotony. 

What  happened  then  was  also  along  the 
lines  he  had  been  prepared  for.  So  many 
tales  had  been  told  him,  and  he  had  listened 
with  such  eagerness  that,  from  the  minute 
of  going  up  the  death-ladder,  he  seemed  to 
have  been  through  it  all  before.  Everything 
went  as  if  it  had  been  rehearsed.  He  had 
the  lonely  feeling  on  finding  himself  in  the 
open  other  men  had  described  to  him.  As 
he  ran  through  the  lanes  of  barbed  wire 
his  agony  of  haste  was  neither  more  nor  less 
than  theirs.  The  "p'— p'— p'— p'— p'— p'" 
of  the  machine-guns;  the  crackling  of  bullets 
through  the  air;  the  tottering  and  falling  of 
his  comrades,  throwing  up  their  arms  and 
tumbling  clumsily  on  backs  or  faces,  were  all 

13 


GOING   WEST 

as  if  by  rule.  He  had  no  more  consciousness 
than  that.  He  was  neither  brave  nor  afraid; 
he  was  only  numb.  It  was  something  to  be 
done,  and  he  was  doing  it.  He  might  have 
been  doing  it  in  his  sleep — in  a  nightmare. 

On  reaching  the  German  trench,  which 
the  barrage  fire  had  crumpled  into  a  welter 
of  earth,  cement,  timbers,  uniforms,  dead 
and  wounded  men,  and  pots  and  pans,  he 
practically  tumbled  in.  There  was  no  horror 
in  the  minute,  because  horror  has  its  lim- 
its and  this  had  passed  beyond  them.  A 
wounded  German  was  crawling  away  to  any- 
thing that  would  shelter  him,  and  in  order 
to  scramble  up  Lester  had  to  step  on  the 
man's  head.  The  head  gave  way,  with  an 
oath  or  a  groan,  but  Lester  managed  to  keep 
his  feet.  All  round  him  there  was  shouting 
and  yelling  and  cursing,  and  now  and  then  a 
demoniac  laugh.  Every  American  was  try- 
ing to  kill  his  German,  and  the  Germans  were 
at  bay.  Lester,  too,  was  trying  to  kill.  The 
infection  had  caught  him.  Out  of  the  blank, 
out  of  the  numbness,  out  of  the  paralysis  of  the 
spirit  in  which  he  had  run  across  No  Man's 
Land,  something  surged  up  of  which  he 
had  no  time  to  take  account.  It  didn't  wait 

14 


GOING    WEST 

for  him  to  take  account  of  it.  It  seized  him 
with  a  maddening  pang — a  hate  to  which 
he  had  never  supposed  his  nature  could 
be  equal  —  a  hate  welling  up  from  the 
depths  of  his  subconscious  self — a  hate  of 
the  enemy — a  hate  of  the  German — a  hate 
of  the  very  first  individual  who  came  his 
way — with  a  wild  accompanying  frenzy  to 
stick  his  bayonet  in  a  heart.  "Give  'em 
hell,"  were  the  words  with  which  he  had 
been  sent  over,  and  all  his  life  and  all  his 
longings  and  all  his  love  were  fused  in  one 
red  flame  to  deal  out  hell  as  it  had  been 
dealt  out  to  him. 

How  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  a 
big,  blond  Bavarian,  whose  blue  eyes  danced 
with  a  kind  of  bloodshot  fire  as  he  swung 
the  butt  of  his  rifle  like  a  club  about  his  head, 
there  is  no  way  of  telling.  It  was  one  of  those 
instances  which  war  supplies  by  the  million 
in  which  world-rancors,  race-rancors,  and 
the  suppressed  irritations  of  thousands  of 
years  sum  themselves  up  in  the  hearts  of 
two  men  who  have  no  personal  quarrel  and 
who  have  never  set  eyes  on  each  other  be- 
fore. It  was  like  an  unescapable  destiny. 
The  American  broker  and  the  peasant-actor 

15 


GOING   WEST 

of  Oberammergau  had  been  projected  tow- 
ard each  other  by  an  irresistible  fate.  Be- 
hind each  were  all  the  generations  of  rivalry 
and  covetousness  and  savagery  and  sin  that 
had  sent  him  forth.  Neither  was  moved  by 
his  own  impulse.  Each  was  but  an  instru- 
ment of  the  passions  of  the  past. 

Lester  was  not  sure  whether  or  not  he  saw 
double — whether  or  not  there  were  two  Ba- 
varians swinging  the  butts  of  their  rifles,  or 
only  one.  Those  who  told  the  story  after- 
ward were  in  similar  doubt.  Some  declared 
for  two;  some  for  one  only;  some  saw  three 
or  four  in  that  corner  of  the  trench.  In  any 
case  Lester  had  found  his  man;  and  no 
emotion  he  had  ever  known  was  half  so 
sweet  as  this  anguish  of  pain  to  get  him. 

Those  who  told  the  story  afterward  laughed 
as  they  pictured  Lester  dancing  this  way 
and  that  to  avoid  the  descending  club  and 
slip  his  bayonet  in  under  it.  He  dodged, 
they  said,  as  if  he  were  on  springs. 
Time  and  time  again  the  Bavarian  seemed 
about  to  sweep  him  with  a  blow  to  the  other 
end  of  the  trench — but  no!  Lester  was 
prancing  as  nimbly  as  ever,  watchful,  alert, 
his  aim  always  at  the  heart.  No  one  could 

16 


GOING   WEST 

tell  how  long  this  went  on,  for  all  observation 
was  crazed.  The  only  thing  known  for  cer- 
tain was  that  in  the  end  Lester  got  his  weapon 
in — and  in — and  in — to  the  hilt — to  the 
heart — and  that  if  he  had  had  time  to  go 
through  the  thick  body  he  would  have  done  it. 
He  didn't  have  time,  and  it  was  here  that 
the  testimony  was  in  conflict.  One  man 
said  that  the  Bavarian  was  able  to  deal  a  last 
blow  with  superhuman  strength.  Another 
declared  that  a  second  Bavarian  dealt  it. 
Of  those  who  came  back  some  supported  one 
of  these  assertions,  and  some  the  other;  but 
there  was  no  difference  of  opinion  at  all  on 
the  point  that  Lester's  skull  was  cracked  with 
a  sound  like  that  of  a  breaking  egg-shell.  His 
body  and  his  opponent's  lay  tumbled  together 
in  a  fierce  embrace — the  one  with  a  sur- 
prised horror  in  the  wide-open  blue  eyes, 
while  the  other — but  they  only  said  of  Lester 
that  his  face  was  "all  bashed  in." 


CHAPTER    III 

TESTER'S  face  was  "all  bashed  in,"  but 
•*-'  Lester  himself  didn't  know  it.  The  last 
thing  he  remembered  was  the  queer,  soft, 
mushy  feeling  as  his  bayonet  pierced  the 
Bavarian's  uniform  and  entered  his  body. 
His  next  sensation  was  that  of  an  emotion, 
a  confused  emotion,  of  sorrow,  pity,  or  dis- 
gust. 

At  first  it  seemed  all  that  had  survived. 
He  himself  was  safe — somewhere — and  the 
Bavarian  had  died.  He  didn't  try  to  move, 
or  open  his  eyes,  or  seek  to  find  out  to  what 
place  they  had  carried  him;  he  was  too  com- 
fortable for  that.  But — a  man  toward  whom 
he  had  no  enmity  on  his  own  account,  who 
was  also  perhaps  a  husband,  with  a  little  wife 
waiting  for  a  baby  in  an  apartment  with  a 
kitchenette,  that  man  lay  dead,  with  his, 
Lester's,  bayonet  wound  hi  his  heart.  He 
was  sorry.  He  remembered  his  hate;  he  re- 
membered his  passion  to  kill;  he  knew  it  as  a 

18 


GOING    WEST 

blend  of  all  the  vengeances  that  had  been 
stirring  in  his  blood  since  Belgium  had  been 
invaded,  and  the  Lusitania  had  been  sunk, 
and  the  awful  things  had  begun  to  pile  upon 
the  awful  things;  but  it  was  a  vengeance  that 
began  to  seem  to  him  beside  the  mark.  It 
was  the  kind  of  revenge  man  didn't  know 
how  to  take;  the  kind  of  justice  he  didn't 
know  how  to  mete  out.  The  innocent  were 
being  punished  for  the  guilty,  as  if  a  child 
were  hanged  because  a  man  had  committed 
a  crime.  He  couldn't  say  that  he  reproached 
himself  for  his  part  in  that;  he  knew  he  had 
been  acting  on  orders  from  above;  but  he 
was  conscious  of  a  deep  regret  that  the  world 
should  have  grown  so  stupid  that  such  things 
had  to  be. 

Otherwise  he  was  resting.  He  supposed 
that  he  must  have  been  wounded,  though  he 
could  feel  no  pain.  Oddly  enough,  when  he 
tested  himself  for  pain  he  didn't  know  where 
to  begin.  But  it  was  his  own  immunity,  his 
sense  of  well-being  and  security,  that  sent 
his  thought  the  more  persistently  toward 
the  man  he  had  kept  from  ever  returning 
home. 

Trying  to  fancy  what  that  home  was  like, 

19 


GOING    WEST 

he  found  himself,  suddenly  but  naturally, 
in  a  village  street,  of  which  the  bordering 
houses,  of  plaster  and  timber,  had  low  roofs 
and  picturesque  eaves.  All  round  there  were 
mountains. 

"This  is  Oberammergau,"  he  heard  in  a 
language  he  understood.  "  Here  is  my  home. 
Let  us  go  in." 

They  entered  without  the  opening  of  doors, 
coming  into  a  room  with  rafters,  small  win- 
dows, and  an  ah-  of  antiquity.  A  woman 
was  kneeling  beside  a  bed  above  which  hung 
a  carved  wooden  crucifix.  On  each  side  of 
her  knelt  a  quaintly  dressed  child,  with  hands 
stiffly  pressed  together. 

"That  is  my  wife,"  said  the  voice.  "Those 
are  my  children.  They're  praying  for  me 
and  asking  that  I  shall  come  home." 

"Should  you  have  liked  to  go  home?" 

It  seemed  natural  to  Lester  to  ask  this 
question.  Everything  seemed  so  natural  that 
he  had  not  yet  reached  the  point  of  inquiring 
how  it  had  come  about.  The  Bavarian  re- 
flected. 

"I  should  have  liked  it  before  knowing 
what  this  is.  I  should  like  it  even  now,  for 

their  sakes.    But  since  death  has  to  be  de- 
20 


GOING   WEST 

stroyed  in  us  one  at  a  time  it's  better  for  us 
to  be  here,  don't  you  think?" 

Lester  began  to  be  startled.  "Here? 
Where?" 

"Wherever  it  is  we  are.  I  don't  quite 
know  where  that  is.  Do  you?  I'm  speaking," 
he  continued,  "in  the  old  terms  of  place  in 
the  sense  of  locality,  because  I  don't  know 
what  else  to  do;  but  locality,  of  course,  is 
gone.  We're  in  the  universal,  which  makes 
it  difficult  for  us,  after  being  used  to  so  many 
limitations,  to  understand  ourselves." 

Lester  was  aware  of  fear,  awe,  and  irrita- 
tion all  struggling  in  him  together. 

"You  may  be  in  the  universal,  as  you  call 
it;  but — but  I've  come  through." 

"We've  both  come  through.  The  marvel 
is  that  we've  done  it  so  easily.  It's  as  I 
expected — only  more  so." 

"As  you  expected — in  what  way?" 

"Every  way;  all  my  life.  When  your  bar- 
rage fire  began  I  prayed — " 

"Do  you  fellows  pray?"  Lester  asked,  in 
astonishment. 

"Oh,  some  of  us — what  we  used  to  call 
prayer — the  sort  of  thing  my  poor  wife  and 

children  are  doing  now — begging — pleading 
21 


GOING    WEST 

that  this  or  that  shall  be  done — instead  of 
resting  in  strength,  as  you  and  I  are." 

"I'm  not — I'm  not — resting  in  strength." 
"  Oh  yes,  you  are !  You  are,  without  know- 
ing it.  It's  what  human  beings  are  always 
doing.  They  get  every  kind  of  good  in  their 
lives,  and  don't  know  the  source  from  which 
it  comes.  You  won't  know  to  what  your 
present  actual  comfort  is  due  till- 
But  the  woman  rose  from  her  knees,  and 
so  did  the  children.  Wiping  away  their  tears, 
they  began  the  preparations  for  a  frugal 
breakfast.  As  Lester  felt  the  presence  that 
had  accompanied  him  moving  from  his  side 
and  enveloping  all  three  in  tenderness,  he 
found  himself  alone  with  his  thought  again. 

There  was  no  shock  to  him  in  the  fact  that, 
as  Molly  had  expressed  it,  the  mortal  had  put 
on  immortality;  he  had  faced  the  possibility 
for  too  long.  Ever  since  the  first  entraining 
he  had  accepted  it  as  an  eventuality  of  war. 
On  sailing  for  France  he  knew  there  were 
increased  chances  against  his  ever  coming 
home.  In  the  months  that  followed  he  grew 
accustomed  to  death  and  more  or  less  obtuse 
to  it.  He  smoked  and  chaffed  in  the  morn- 
ing with  fellows  who  by  noon  had  gone— 
22 


GOING    WEST 

who  could  tell  where?  They  used  the  eu- 
phemism of  "going  west" — into  the  sunset, 
into  the  glory,  into  the  great  repose.  It  was 
the  easiest  thing  to  say,  and  many  a  time  he 
had  said  it  of  himself.  "By  this  tune  next 
year  I  may  have  gone  west."  Then  it  be- 
came: "By  this  time  next  month  I  may  have 
gone  west."  Later  it  was:  "By  this  time  to- 
morrow—" "Within  an  hour—"  "Within 
half  an  hour — "  "Within  ten  minutes — " 
as  the  seconds  slipped  away. 

Well,  he  had  gone  west!  The  odd  thing 
was  that  he  had  done  it  so  easily,  so  pain- 
lessly. The  tedious  hours  in  the  trenches 
faded  more  or  less  from  recollection.  The 
going  over  the  top  and  all  that  followed  after 
it  became  nothing  but  a  blur.  Even  the 
months  in  camp,  in  Texas,  behind  the  lines 
in  France,  dissolved  like  vapors  when  they 
mount  into  the  air.  What  was  present  to 
him  most  forcibly  was  the  thought  of  the 
dear  ones  he  had  left  behind. 

His  own  conditions  were  entirely  a  matter 
of  course;  he  was  perfectly  at  home  in  them. 
Though  he  could  not  have  described  them,  nor 
have  given  an  account  of  them,  he  knew  that 
they  were  pleasant  and  that  they  were  pro- 

23 


GOING    WEST 

foundly  rooted  in  nature.  He  was  neither 
surprised  at  them  nor  unduly  curious. 

Neither  was  he  lonely.  His  sufficiency 
was  such  that  companionship  as  he  had  al- 
ways conceived  of  it  was  not  a  consideration. 
The  condition  in  itself  was  companionship  to 
a  degree  he  could  not  understand.  It  was  vi- 
brant with  life;  there  was  speech  in  it.  Had 
he  been  forced  to  make  explanations,  he 
would  have  said  there  was  intelligence  in  it, 
and  comprehension.  He  let  himself  sink  into 
the  enjoyment  of  it  as  a  baby  rests  without 
questioning  in  the  love  by  which  it  is  en- 
lapped.  No;  he  wasn't  lonely;  he  didn't 
know  what  loneliness  was. 

But  he  felt  care — the  care  for  Molly,  the 
fear  of  the  blow  that  would  fall  on  his  father 
and  mother  and  sisters.  Now  that  he  knew 
what  had  happened,  his  thought  fixed  itself 
on  finding  some  way  by  which  hs  could  help 
them. 

On  this  point  he  wondered  why,  if  the  Ba- 
varian could  return  to  his  home  and  whisper 
something  of  comfort,  he  could  not  return  to 
his.  Distance  was  not  a  factor,  since  it  was 
no  part  of  the  universal.  Even  the  gulf  be- 
tween the  material  and  the  non-material  could 
24 


GOING    WEST 

in  a  measure  be  crossed.  Why,  then,  could 
he  not  cross  it? 

"Is  it  because  I've  been  such  a  bad  fellow?" 
he  asked  himself. 

"Not  entirely,"  the  Bavarian  answered, 
as  if  the  words  had  been  addressed  to  him. 
"It  isn't  a  question  of  what  we've  done  so 
much  as  it  is  of  what  we  know.  It's  a  matter 
of  thought,  of  consciousness.  When  we've 
learned  that  everything  exists  in  a  great 
mind,  that  mind  itself  becomes  the  medium  of 
intercourse.  Give  up  the  idea  that  the  peo- 
ple you  love  live  in  one  sphere  and  you  in 
another.  We  all  live  together  in  one  great 
intelligence  that  understands  all  our  needs. 
Meet  your  needs  not  by  your  own  efforts, 
but  by  co-operation  with  that  intelligence, 
and  what  you  want  will  be  done." 

Lester  reflected  on  that.  "What  do  you 
mean  by  co-operation?" 

"Trust,  in  the  first  place — till  trust  be- 
comes knowledge." 

"But  if  this  intelligence  knows  already 
what  I  need—?" 

"It  will  do  the  wise  thing,  only  you  won't 
be  associated  with  it.  What  you  want  is  the 
association,  to  have  your  part.  You  don't 

25 


GOING   WEST 

get  your  part,  you  don't  have  the  association, 
because  you  isolate  yourself.  Your  mind  is 
closed  to  the  powers  and  activities  that  are 
all  about  you.  When  you  understand  what 
they  are  you  will  have  your  share  hi  them." 

"But  why  should  my  mind  be  closed  if 
yours  is  open?" 

"It's  a  matter  of  habit.  We  go  on  here 
from  the  very  point  at  which  we  left  off  there. 
I  had  the  habit  already.  Our  life  at  Ober- 
ammergau  bred  it  into  one.  You  didn't 
have  it.  Your  thoughts  were  limited  to  a 
physical  world  and  a  physical  body  and  a 
physical  way  of  doing  everything.  Now  you 
have  it  all  to  learn,  very  much  as  you  had  in 
your  physical  childhood." 

"Then  I'm  not  being  punished  for  my 
sins?" 

He  asked  the  question  in  some  uneasiness. 

"You  are.  Don't  you  see?  The  punish- 
ment is  that  you're  not  more  advanced. 
You've  been  like  the  idle  boy  in  school;  and 
now  you  find  it  hard  to  catch  up.  If  it  were 
not  for  the  great  thing  you've  done  you'd  be 
farther  behind  than  you  are." 

"The  great  thing  I've  done?  I  don't  under- 
stand you." 

26 


GOING   WEST 

"Every  good  act  helps  us  onward;  and 
among  things  that  are  good  love  is  the  great- 
est. Of  that  you've  given  the  highest  proof 
there  is." 

Lester  was  astounded. 

"1?" 

"You  gave  the  most  precious  things  you 
had — your  business,  your  happiness,  your 
family,  your  wife,  your  life.  You  held  noth- 
ing back.  You  not  only  gave  without  re- 
serve, but  you  gave  without  complaining. 
You  didn't  do  it  for  yourself,  but  for  a  great 
cause — as  men  conceive  of  causes — and  you 
did  it  of  your  own  free  will." 

"And  so  did  you." 

"No;  I  waited  to  be  taken.  If  I  hadn't 
been  taken  I  shouldn't  have  gone.  I  didn't 
offer  myself  up ;  I  was  seized  against  my  will. 
You  were  the  more  like  Jesus  of  Nazareth, 
Who  laid  down  His  life  for  His  friends,  and  so, 
as  He  said  Himself,  losing  your  life  you  have 
found  it." 

"Oh,  but  I  didn't  do  it  in  that  way  at  all," 
Lester  protested. 

"It  doesn't  take  anything  away  from  right 
that  we  do  it  as  a  matter  of  course.  We 

don't  have  to  know  the  infinite  intelligence 
27 


to  have  the  infinite  intelligence  know  us. 
Isn't  it  a  case  of  'He  that  doeth  the  Will'? 
If  we  do  the  Will  instinctively  we  can't 
fail  of  the  protection  of  Him  whose  Will  is 
done;  and  if  we  don't  know  Him  already  we 
can  be  sure  He  will  make  Himself  known." 

Communication  once  more  came  to  an  end, 
not  abruptly,  but  by  natural  cessation,  be- 
cause the  thought  had  been  expressed. 

But  Lester  was  left  with  a  clue  to  follow, 
and  little  by  little  he  followed  it.  The  im- 
mediate gain  was  a  new  kind  of  perception. 
It  was  as  if  some  faculty  already  possessed, 
but  paralyzed  within  him,  had  been  freed. 
He  could  not  have  said  that  this  endowment 
existed  in  hearing,  or  sight,  or  any  of  the 
senses,  or  hi  all  of  them  together,  or  hi  none 
of  them.  All  he  could  say  was  that  it  gave 
him  a  new  use  of  power,  of  power  to  which 
he  had  a  right,  but  of  which,  for  a  reason  that 
escaped  him,  he  had  hitherto  been  deprived. 


CHAPTER   IV 

A3  with  this  power  there  came  freedom, 
expansion,  and  growth,  he  found  himself 
able  to  reconstruct  out  of  thought  the  house 
he  had  formerly  called  home. 

He  was  back  in  it  all  at  once — without 
effort,  without  coming  from  a  distance,  with- 
out journeying  through  space,  without  meet- 
ing the  discords  between  timelessness  and 
time.  He  was  simply  there,  walking  about 
the  rooms  and  halls  as  he  had  done  ever  since 
his  childhood. 

He  judged  it  to  be  evening,  for  his  father 
was  at  home.  It  was  what  he,  Lester,  had 
wanted.  His  appeal  was  to  be  for  Molly, 
that  the  family  should  pity  her,  should  take 
her  in,  should  make  her  one  of  themselves, 
and  help  her  through  the  time  that  was  ahead 
of  her.  He  knew  his  appearing  might  be  a 
shock  to  them,  but  it  would  be  a  shock  to  his 
father  least  of  all. 

The  father  was  seated  hi  the  dining-room, 
29 


GOING    WEST 

reading  a  book  by  an  electric  lamp.  When 
the  supper  was  cleared  away,  he  could  have 
this  room  to  himself.  It  was  a  cheerful  room, 
with  deep-red  curtains  drawn,  and  a  deep- 
red  cloth  on  the  table.  Lester  entered  with- 
out journeying  through  space,  much  as  he 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  entering  all  his 
lif e.  His  sense  of  presence,  of  vitality,  was 
so  strong  that  he  wondered  his  father  did  not 
look  up. 

"Father!" 

But  the  father  kept  on  reading. 

"Father!" 

There  was  no  indication  that  he  had  been 
heard. 

He  went  nearer.  He  placed  himself  where 
he  must  be  seen.  He  spoke  with  more 
force. 

"Father!  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about 
Molly." 

The  father  turned  a  page.  Lester  could 
hear  the  rattle  of  the  paper.  He  could  hear 
the  little  cough  when  his  father  cleared  his 
throat.  He  could  see  the  dark  shade  in  his 
father's  cheeks  which  showed  he  needed  shav- 
ing. There  was  nothing  about  that  well- 
known  face  obscure  or  unfamiliar;  but  he 

30 


GOING    WEST 

could  make  no  sign  of  his  coming  that  could 
be  recognized. 

Presently  Cora  came  in  and  sat  down.  She 
began  to  talk  about  the  book  in  her  father's 
hands.  To  Lester  it  was  like  something  on 
the  stage,  something  done  by  human  beings, 
but  not  part  of  life's  reality.  It  struck  him 
for  the  first  time  that  mortal  happenings  pass 
in  a  realm  of  illusion. 

From  the  fact  that  Cora  was  in  colors  he 
inferred  that  the  news  from  France  had  not 
yet  reached  them. 

"Cora,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about  Molly." 

11  Oh,  it's  interesting  enough, "  Cora  ad- 
mitted, in  response  to  something  said  by  her 
father," especially  the  first  part ;  but  so  trivial. 
If  the  dead  really  do  live  again  I  should  think 
they'd  find  some  better  occupation  than  play- 
ing with  a  ouija-board." 

"A  ouija  -  board,"  the  father  argued, 
"might  be  only  the  simplest  means  they 
can  find  of  getting  their  messages  over." 

"Then,  since  they're  so  limited  in  what 
they  can  do,  why  shouldn't  they  tell  us  some- 
thing worth  our  knowing,  when  they've  got 

the   opportunity?    This   boy" — she   waved 
31 


GOING    WEST 

her  hand  toward  the  book — "does  no  more 
than  describe  the  same  old  life  on  earth — 
with  variations." 

"But  perhaps  with  variations  they  live  the 
same  old  life  on  earth." 

"Then  I  don't  want  to  believe  in  it." 
Cora's  manner  was  decisive  and  professional 
as  such  manners  are  depicted  by  actresses. 
"As  a  matter  of  fact,"  she  summed  up,  "the 
more  I  think,  and  the  more  I  read,  the  less 
I'm  inclined  to  accept  a  life  beyond  the  grave 
as  a  possibility.  Such  books" — again  she 
indicated  that  in  her  father's  hand — "ex- 
press a  natural  human  yearning,  as  do  also 
the  myths  of  the  New  Testament,  but — " 
She  left  her  sentence  there.  The  father,  too, 
left  it  there,  as  if  at  heart  he  agreed  with  her. 

"I  wonder  where  mother  is,"  Lester  asked 
himself ,  and  immediately  was  in  her  room  up- 
stairs. 

She  was  seated  before  a  mirror,  trying  on  a 
hat.  Another  hat  was  on  a  chair  beside  her. 
Two  bandboxes  with  a  disarray  of  silver 
paper  stood  beside  her  on  the  floor.  Ethel- 
ind,  short-skirted,  and  moving  with  nimble, 
sylphlike  feet,  was  standing  back  to  get  the 

effect. 

32 


GOING   WEST 

"I  think  I  like  that  one  the  better  of  the 
two,"  she  was  saying,  "and  yet  I  don't  know 
but—" 

"Oh,  they're  awful,  both  of  them,"  the 
mother  complained.  "It's  funny  I  can  never 
get  a  hat  that  suits  me  but  the  same  old  thing." 

Lester  went  forward.  He  meant  that  she 
should  see  him  first  in  the  mirror.  The  re- 
flection would  startle  her,  of  course,  but  he 
should  be  able  to  reassure  her. 

It  was  he  who  was  startled  first,  since, 
standing  before  the  mirror,  he  didn't  get  his 
own  reflection.  He  felt  so  solid,  so  warm, 
so  full  of  energy,  that  it  seemed  to  him  im- 
possible that  a  reflection  should  not  be  cast. 
But  there  was  nothing — nothing  but  the 
image  of  his  mother  casting  her  bright  eyes 
up  at  the  cockatoo  crest  on  a  hat  that  sug- 
gested a  Mephistopheles. 

"Mother,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about 
Molly." 

"Oh,  dear,  what  an  old  hag  I'm  beginning 
to  look!" 

"Oh  no,  you're  not,  mother  dear,"  Ethel- 
ind  returned,  cheerfully.  ' '  That's  j ust  worry. 
One  of  these  days  the  war  will  be  over  and 

he'll  be  coming  back  a  great  general — " 
33 


GOING   WEST 

"What's  the  use  of  the  war  being  over 
and  his  coming  back  a  great  general,  when 
that  creature  will  have  the  first  say  in  him?" 

Ethelind  came  behind  her  mother,  to  give 
the  hat  a  twitch  to  a  more  effective  angle. 

"Mother  dear,  I  don't  believe  he'd  like  to 
have  you  talk  in  that  way." 

Lester  appealed  to  his  sister. 

"Ethelind,  I  want  you  to  help  me.  I  want 
you  all  to  think  of  Molly.  I'm  not  coming 
home;  but  I'm  well  and  happy.  That  is,  I 
could  be  happy  if  I  only  knew  that  she  was 
being  taken  care  of  and  that  you  were  good 
to  her." 

But  Ethelind  only  twitched  the  hat  again, 
and  the  subject  dropped.  As  it  did  a  cur- 
tain seemed  to  come  down  on  the  scenes  that 
had  meant  home  to  him,  once  more  suggesting 
the  action  of  a  play. 

There  followed  for  Lester  a  further  phase 
of  unfolding  thought,  though  with  no  solution 
of  some  of  his  perplexities. 

"But  it's  always  so,"  the  Bavarian  ex- 
plained to  him.  "We  can  go  to  them  more 
easily  than  they  can  come  to  us.  The  spirit- 
ual can  to  some  slight  degree  re-embody  the 

material;  but  spiritual  things  are  only  spirit- 
34 


GOING   WEST 

ually  discerned.  Jesus  of  Nazareth  after  His 
Resurrection  could  at  times  reincarnate  Him- 
self before  His  disciples;  but  they  could  not 
spiritualize  themselves  so  as  to  follow  Him 
when  He  disappeared.  That  can  only  be 
accomplished  in  proportion  as  they  lay  off 
the  mortal  and  temporary  by  degrees,  or 
burst  out  of  it  with  a  bound,  as  you  and  I 
did." 

And  yet  in  Lester's  consciousness  the  vi- 
brancy of  life  in  his  surroundings  grew  more 
tense.  It  was  as  if  he  were  rising  and  ever 
rising  on  a  mounting  wave  of  vitality,  but 
always  riding  on  the  top.  Something  like 
this  energy  he  had  felt  in  running,  or  rowing, 
or  swimming,  or  on  horseback,  or  in  one  or 
another  of  the  sports  in  which  he  had  ex- 
celled; but  never  with  this  joyousness  of 
strength.  The  physical  had  given  some  sign 
of  it,  though  it  had  been  no  more  than  as  the 
single  note  of  a  shepherd's  pipe  to  the  fullness 
of  an  orchestra,  or  as  the  tramp  of  a  lone 
step  to  the  onrush  of  a  million  men. 

And  in  one  such  swelling,  exultant,  glo- 
rious moment  he  came  where  Molly  was  in 
her  little  living-room  in  the  apartment  with  a 
kitchenette.  She  was  sitting  at  a  table,  with 

35 


GOING   WEST 

two  or  three  books  before  her.  One  of  them 
was  open  and  to  it  from  time  to  time  she 
dropped  her  eyes.  She  raised  them  soon 
again  to  look  straight  into  the  ah-,  as  if  she 
saw  beyond  walls  into  the  reality  where  he 
was.  There  was  no  trouble  in  her  eyes,  nor 
sorrow,  nor  anxiety.  In  every  feature  there 
was  peace,  with  the  look  of  expectation. 

He  did  not  try  at  once  to  enter  into  com- 
munication with  her.  It  was  enough  for 
him  to  study  the  pure  face  with  its  expression 
of  repose.  But  he  followed  her  thought  as 
her  eyes  fell  to  the  page  of  the  book  again.  It 
was  as  if  he  were  reading  the  words  himself : 

"And  if  Christ  be  not  raised,  your  faith  is  vain;  ye 
are  yet  in  your  sins.  .  .  ,  If  in  this  life  only  we  have 
hope  in  Christ,  we  are  of  all  men  most  miserable.  But 
now  is  Christ  risen  from  the  dead,  and  become  the 
first  fruits  of  them  that  slept.  For  since  by  man  came 
death,  by  man  came  also  the  resurrection  of  the  dead." 

She  lifted  her  eyes  and  reflected  on  that. 
He  drew  nearer,  bending  over  and  about  her. 

"Molly,  I'm  here." 

He  saw  her  expression  brighten.  It  was 
almost  as  if  she  had  said,  "Yes,  I  know." 

"I  want  you  to  know,  darling,  that  I'm 
not  coming  home." 

36 


GOING    WEST 

Whatever  was  passing  through  her  mind, 
she  nodded,  though  no  shade  fell  on  her  bright 
face. 

"I'm  well,"  he  continued.  "You  must 
think  of  me  as  happy  and  as  taken  care  of." 

Again  there  was  that  nod,  as  if  she  assented 
to  something  she  had  heard.  Presently  she 
began  to  read  again: 

"Then  cometh  the  end,  when  he  shall  have  deliv- 
ered up  the  kingdom  to  God,  even  the  Father;  when 
he  shall  have  put  down  all  rule  and  all  authority  and 
power.  For  he  must  reign,  till  he  hath  put  all  enemies 
under  his  feet.  The  last  enemy  that  shall  be  de- 
stroyed is  death." 

"That  enemy  is  destroyed,  Molly.  I've 
proved  it.  There's  no  death;  there's  nothing 
but  life.  There's  not  even  a  shock,  or  a  min- 
ute of  unhappiness.  There's  nothing  but 
life,  and  then  more  life,  and  then  life  again. 
I  was  never  so  alive  as  I  am  at  this  instant, 
or  so  capable  of  doing  things.  Except  for 
you,  Molly,  sweet  one,  and  the  baby  that's 
coming,  and  the  family,  I  wouldn't  go 
back." 

If  her  eyes  grew  grave  it  was  with  thought 
and  not  with  foreboding.  She  returned  once 

more  to  her  book: 

37 


GOING   WEST 

"For  this  corruptible  must  put  on  incorruption,  and 
this  mortal  must  put  on  immortality.  So  when  this 
corruptible  shall  have  put  on  incorruption  and  this 
mortal  shall  have  put  on  immortality,  then  shall  be 
brought  to  pass  the  saying  that  is  written,  Death  is 
swallowed  up  in  victory." 

"Yes,"  he  said  to  her,  "that  is  what  has 
happened  to  me.  Death  has  been  swallowed 
up  in  victory.  If  strength  and  energy  and 
safety  and  joy  constitute  victory,  then  I'm 
victorious.  If  it  were  not  for  you,  O  my 
love—" 

But  she  closed  her  book  suddenly  and  rose. 
As  she  did  so  he  could  hear  the  words  she 
uttered,  almost  aloud. 

"I  must  do  that,"  she  said,  with  determi- 
nation. "It's  what  he'd  like.  I  must  take 
it  on  myself." 


CHAPTER  V 

HE  lost  her  for  a  while,  and  when  he  saw 
her  again  she  was  hi  the  open  air.  He 
was  with  her,  though  not  exactly  by  her  side. 
As  far  as  he  could  judge  he  was  both  leading 
her  and  following  after  her.  He  was  above 
her,  and  also  holding  her  hand.  If  he  could 
have  been  everywhere  about  her  at  one  and 
the  same  instant,  it  was  that. 

It  seemed  to  be  Sunday.  There  was  no 
work  going  on  in  the  streets,  and  there  was  the 
Sunday  air  of  leisure.  Molly  walked  rapidly, 
her  eyes  toward  the  ground.  Her  whole 
little  figure  expressed  concentration  of  pur- 
pose. 

He  knew  the  suburb.  The  shady  streets, 
the  trim  green  lawns,  the  low  stone  walls  with 
vines  tumbling  over  them,  the  wooden  houses 
painted  for  the  most  part  in  dull  tones  of  red 
and  yellow,  were  those  with  which  he  had 
always  been  familiar.  High  on  a  knoll  he 

39 


GOING    WEST 

saw  the  deep  verandas  of  his  own  old  home. 
Molly  did  not  hesitate.  She  turned  in  at  the 
gate. 

There  was  a  short  driveway,  between 
clumps  of  shrubbery  and  under  elms.  At  a 
sudden  turning  she  met  Ethelind.  The  two 
girls  stopped  and  looked  at  each  other  as  they 
came  face  to  face. 

"You're  Ethelind,  aren't  you?"  Molly 
said,  without  trembling  or  awkwardness. 

Ethelind's  wild  eyes  were  all  ablaze. 

"Yes,  and  you're  Molly.  I'm — I'm  so 
glad  you've  come.  I've  wanted  to  know 
you.  I  was  coming  one  day  to  see  you — I 
don't  care  what  any  one  says.  I  know  it's 
what  my  brother  would  want  me  to  do.  We 
— we  miss  him  so." 

"Thank  you,"  Molly  said,  with  a  gentle 
smile.  "I'm  glad  you  thought  of  me  so 
kindly.  Just  now  there's  something  I  want 
to  say  to  your  father  or  mother.  Do  you 
think  either  of  them  would  see  me?" 

Ethelind's  face  fell. 

"I  —  I  can't  say  —  for  sure.  They're — 
Oh,  I  don't  know! — But  my  brother — " 

"Yes,  I  know  all  that;  but  this  is  some- 
thing important." 

40 


GOING    WEST 

The  girl  seized  the  sister-in-law's  arm. 
"It  —  it  isn't  —  anything  you've  —  you've 
heard?" 

"It's  nothing  I've  heard;  it's  only  some- 
thing that  I  feel  I  know." 

But  they  had  been  seen  from  the  window. 
The  mother  came  running  out,  all  her  gay 
audacity  transformed,  as  a  lamp  is  trans- 
formed when,  instead  of  giving  light,  it  be- 
comes the  center  of  conflagration. 

"Oh,  what  is  it?  What  is  it?"  she  cried, 
as  she  hurried  toward  them. 

"It's  nothing  very  definite,  Mrs.  Lester," 
Molly  replied,  calmly.  "It's  only  something 
I  feel  so  strongly  that — " 

"Oh,  feel!"  Mrs  Lester  exclaimed,  im- 
patiently. "Don't  frighten  us  with  feelings 
when — " 

"Is  Mr.  Lester  in?  I  should  like  to  talk 
to  him  as  well." 

The  mother  led  the  way  toward  the  house. 
Molly  followed,  Ethelind  clinging  to  her  arm. 
It  did  not  occur  to  any  of  them  that  no 
further  explanation  had  been  made  as  to  who 
Molly  was.  That  seemed  to  take  itself  for 
granted. 

The  father  was  in  the  hall  at  the  foot  of 

41 


GOING   WEST 

the  stairs.  Cora  was  coming  down  them. 
Both  had  -been  summoned  by  the  sense  of 
something  wrong.  Molly  went  straight  to 
her  husband's  father. 

"Oh,  I  want  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Lester;  I 
feel  I  have  a  message." 

"Feel  you  have  a  message?"  he  echoed, 
with  a  kind  of  tremulous  severity.  "What 
do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"I  don't  know  what  I  mean;  only  this 
morning  he — he  seemed  to  come  and  stand 
beside  me — " 

"Nonsense!"  It  was  Cora  who  said  that, 
from  the  position  in  which  she  had  come  to 
a  standstill  half-way  down  the  stairs.  To 
Molly  she  seemed  very  magisterial  and  com- 
manding. "Nonsense!"  she  repeated.  "This 
is  pure  nervousness — or  hysterics." 

"No,  it  isn't,  Miss  Lester,"  Molly  contra- 
dicted, not  rudely,  but  with  imploring  earnest- 
ness. "I'm  sure  he  did  come.  He  spoke  to 
me.  Something  spoke  to  me." 

"Did  you  hear  anything?"  the  mother 
demanded. 

"No,  it  wasn't  in  words;  or  if  it  was  in 
words  it  was  only  as  it  turned  itself  into 

words  in  my  own  mind.    It  was  more  like — 
42 


GOING   WEST 

like  a  conviction — an  intense  conviction — 
that  came  to  me  from  outside." 

"And  what  did  your  conviction  say?" 
Cora  inquired,  icily. 

"It  said — •  Oh,  you  must  forgive  me! — I 
shouldn't  come  if  I  didn't  feel  it  so  strongly! 
— It's  as  hard  for  me  as  it  is  for  you — " 

The  father  backed  away  to  the  baluster. 
His  face  had  grown  gray.  The  mother 
dropped  to  a  hall  chair.  Ethelind  was  cry- 
ing already,  but  standing  by  as  if  to  give  aid. 
Cora  was  still  commanding  and  severe.  It 
was  she  who  interrupted. 

"Yes;  we  understand  all  that.  But  tell  us 
what  you've  come  to  say." 

Under  this  authority  and  severity  Molly 
began  to  grow  nervous.  She  clasped  and  un- 
clasped her  hands,  sometimes  twisting  her 
fingers. 

"You  see,  it  was  this  way.  I  was  reading 
the  Bible  and — and  thinking — and  trying  to 
understand  what  it  meant — when  all  at  once 
he — he  seemed  to  be  with  me — and  to  be 
saying  things." 

"What  sort  of  things?" 

"I  don't  exactly  know,  Miss  Lester.  I 
knew  he  was  there — and  that  he  was  telling 

43 


GOING   WEST 

me  how  beautiful  it  was  with  him — but  I 
can't  explain  how  he  made  me  understand 
it—" 

"No,"  Cora  interrupted  again,  "nobody 
ever  can  explain.  Once  they  get  notions 
into  their  heads,  they  seem  to  think  explana- 
tions are  not  important."  She  came  down 
to  the  second  lowest  step,  but  still  stood  over 
the  trembling  young  wife  in  her  attitude  of 
authority.  "This  is  all  nerves,  my  dear— 
and  excitement.  The  book  you  were  read- 
ing— oh,  yes,  it's  a  very  good  book,  and  full 
of  the  wisdom  of  the  ages  and  all  that! — But 
it  reacted  on  you  in  such  a  way  that  you've 
conjured  up  these  frightening  things — " 

"But  I'm  not  frightened  at  all,"  Molly 
burst  out.  "That's  the  wonderful  part  of 
it.  If  he  hadn't  come  and  told  me  before- 
hand, and  made  me  feel  how  happy  he  is,  I 
should  have  been.  But  I'm  not  now;  and 
I  don't  want  you  to  be.  That's  why  I  came." 

"Yes;  no  doubt,"  Miss  Lester  agreed, 
coldly.  "But  now  that  you've  come,  you'll 
do  well  to  run  home  again  and  try  to  calm 
yourself  and  be  sensible.  If  my  brother  has 
been" — she  stumbled  at  the  word,  but  forced 
herself  to  utter  it — "if  my  brother  has  been — 

44 


GOING    WEST 

k-killed — we  shall  hear  of  it  from  the  proper 
authorities." 

"Cora,  that's  not  fair,"  Ethelind  cried, 
indignantly.  "Molly's  come  over  here  to 
warn  us,  and  even  if  she's  wrong — "  She 
broke  off  to  make  another  sort  of  appeal. 
"Father,  can't  you  say  something?  Here's 
your  son's  wife — the  mother  of  the  child  he's 
expecting — " 

But  Mrs.  Lester  rose,  still  clinging  to  her 
chair. 

"If  this  is  a  ruse  for  getting  into  our  house 
and  making  our  acquaintance  whether  we 
would  or  no — " 

"  Mother,  how  can  you?  "  came  from  Ethel- 
ind. "You  deserve  that  your  son  should 
never  be  given  back  to  you.  Father,  can't 
you  say  anything  at  all?" 

But  what  the  father  did  say  was  uttered 
brokenly.  "  I  don't — I  don't  believe  it.  He's 
not — not  dead.  She's  come  here  to  get  us  to 
own  her — to  take  her  in — " 

"And  if  we  don't,"  Ethelind  cried,  "and 
she  goes  away  again,  I'll  go  with  her.  Wheth- 
er he  comes  back  or  not  I  shall  be  there." 

It  was   extraordinary  to   Lester   that  he 

could  look  on  at  this  scene  without  conscious 
45 


GOING   WEST 

pain.  It  was  exactly  as  if  he  had  watched 
them  rehearsing  a  play  in  which  emotions 
were  simulated  but  not  experienced.  When 
the  rehearsal  was  over  they  would  become 
their  actual  selves  again.  Beyond  hardness, 
and  suffering,  and  misunderstanding  he  could 
see  the  end. 

He  could  see  the  end  as  Molly  cast  an  im- 
ploring look  around  her  and  prepared  to 
depart.  Ethelind,  who  was  already  in  street 
clothes,  gave  all  the  signs  of  going  with  her. 
Over  them  both  Lester  threw  the  protection 
of  his  love,  which  apparently  gave  them 
nerve.  Neither  of  them  flinched;  but  it  was 
in  Molly  that  the  real  valor  shone.  She  was 
both  quiet  and  firm  as  she  took  her  few  steps 
toward  the  door,  Ethelind  clinging  to  her 
arm. 

But  at  the  door  there  was  a  ring,  and  on 
the  porch  outside  there  stood  a  boy  with  a 
telegram  in  his  hand. 

"Charles  E.  Lester  live  here?" 

Ethelind  seized  the  envelop,  while  with 
feverish  ringers  Cora  signed  for  it.  The 
father  took  it  in  his  hands  and  held  it  help- 
lessly. 

The  mother  uttered  one  great  cry. 

46 


GOING   WEST 

"Open  it!" 

He  opened  it — read  it — and  let  it  flutter  to 
the  floor.  > 

Cora  snatched  it  up;  but  she,  too,  dropped 
it  after  a  hurried  glance.  She  stood  as  if 
turned  to  stone. 

The  mother  took  it — sat  down  deliberately 
— read  it  carefully — read  it  again — read  it 
again — and  folding  it,  slipped  it  into  the 
bosom  of  her  gown. 

Molly  and  Ethelind  had  not  waited.  They 
had  not  needed  to  hear  the  news.  Rather 
they  were  eager  to  run  away.  It  was  Molly, 
however,  who  pressed  onward,  dragging  the 
other  with  her — out  to  the  porch — down  the 
steps — on  to  the  driveway. 

The  three  in  the  hallway  remained  as  if 
paralyzed,  without  tears,  without  words, 
seemingly  without  thoughts. 

The  mother  came  first  to  the  possession  of 
her  faculties. 

"Stop  her,"  she  cried,  in  a  deep,  tragic 
voice  a  little  like  a  man's.  "Stop  her.  Bring 
her  back."  She  struggled  to  her  feet,  hurry- 
ing toward  the  door.  "She's  my  dead  son's 
wife.  He  spoke  to  her.  He's  not  dead. 
He's  alive.  If  he  wasn't  alive  he  couldn't 

47 


GOING    WEST 

have  come  to  her.  Stop  her. .  Call  her  back. 
She's  my  child.  Nothing  shall  take  her  away 
from  me." 

Lester  saw  the  two  girls  pause,  while  Ethel- 
ind  whispered: 

"Go  back.     She's  calling  you." 

Slowly  Molly  turned  round.  Slowly  she 
mounted  the  steps  of  the  veranda.  The 
vision  faded  out  as  Lester  saw  his  mother's 
arms  go  round  the  neck  of  his  young  wife  and 
draw  her  close. 

But  it  faded  out  in  radiance.  It  also  faded 
out  in  confidence.  He  was  not  only  at  peace, 
he  was  at  peace  with  the  certainty  of  a  vast 
readjustment. 

It  was  readjustment  in  himself  first  of  all 
— the  adaptation  of  the  "fan"  at  ball-games, 
and  of  the  broker  of  The  Street,  to  the  eter- 
nities of  which  he  could  just  discern  the 
beginnings. 

Then  it  would  be  the  readjustment  of  his 
family — to  each  other — to  Molly — to  their 
memory  of  him.  A  new  kind  of  tenderness 
would  settle  down  among  them  with  a  new 
and  farther  outlook. 

It  would  be  the  readjustment,  too,  of  his 
country  —  to  a  new  world  -  position  —  to  a 

48 


GOING    WEST 

wider  world  responsibility.  In  the  ending  of 
enmities  it  would  play  a  ruling  part. 

And  it  would  be  the  readjustment  of 
nations  to  nations,  and  of  men  to  men.  The 
blind  hatreds  that  had  hurled  him  against 
the  Bavarian  and  the  Bavarian  against  him 
would  cease.  Their  folly  would  be  recog- 
nized. Of  the  blood  that  had  been  shed,  and 
was  still  to  be  shed,  this  would  be  the  recom- 
pense. It  would  be  shed  to  its  highest  pur- 
pose when  it  should  be  shown  that  it  had  been 
shed  in  vain. 

Soon  those  who  were  in  the  turmoil  that 
mortals  create  for  one  another  would  have 
come  west  like  himself — into  the  sunset,  into 
the  glory,  into  the  great  repose.  They 
would  come  into  the  great  activities,  too, 
where  work  never  ceases,  and  strength  never 
tires,  and  love  never  wanes.  And  as  he 
turned  into  the  radiance  he  felt  content  to 
wait  patiently  for  that. 


THE    END 


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